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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447211">Heat Seeking Missiles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_euro505/pseuds/lavender_euro505'>lavender_euro505</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dunkirk (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1940s, Blackouts, Boys Kissing, Bunkers, Français | French, Frottage, Gibson (Dunkirk) Lives, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet, Internalized Homophobia, London, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rutting, Shameless Smut, WW2, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:07:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_euro505/pseuds/lavender_euro505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>July, 1940. The boys of Dunkirk beach are back home, in England, where blackouts have become mandatory. Tommy and Philippe have been put into forced separation due to Philippe’s hospitalization. After fully recovering from his illness, Philippe is finally released and the French-born soldier goes searching for Tommy like a heat seeking missile. Hidden in the darkness of wartime blackouts and Anderson shelters, Tommy and Philippe relish in their newfound love and sense of safety. At least, for tonight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heat Seeking Missiles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is in honour of Pride Month 2020. It also pays homage to the often discreet, invisible, and sometimes half lives that many LGBTQ people lived during the last century. I hope my story honours their struggle, their love, and what their past teaches us. </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m sorry, it’s not much really…” </p><p>Tommy bites at his lip, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. He grabs at a dirtied blanket and dusts at the makeshift bed in a vain attempt at tidying. Of course, that couldn’t be sorted out now, Philippe was already here. The Frenchman looks at his host until Tommy returns his stare. Philippe gives him an appreciative smile, tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed he’d sleep on that night. It'd been weeks of writing letters to each other, not knowing when they'd get a chance like this again. The war was on. They knew the Germans were practically knocking on their door now and the stakes were high. It really is now or never.</p><p>Tommy watches with almost bated breath as Philippe takes in his new surroundings with wide, curious eyes. They shine brightly in the dim light of the kerosene lamp Tommy had brought with them, dark and searching.</p><p>“There’s a shallow basin to wash up in and I’ll bring round some water, as well. I think there’s food left from tea, and mum always keeps a few biscuits and root veg down here, like…” </p><p>Tommy swoops down under the bed to shuffle out a wooden crate filled with tins. “You won’t go hungry anyway.” He looks up from his crouching position on the dirt floor to meet Philippe’s eyes. He can feel his cheeks get hot as Philippe watches him intently, gaze raking over his features, a private smile on his face. Clearing his throat, Tommy slides the crate back under the bed, too cowardly to hold his gaze for too long. </p><p>Tommy’s eyes search around the room for another distraction, some innocuous thing he could tell Philippe about. With a hand in his hair, he swivels his body away from the other man, hoping that would conceal his emotions. He racks his brain for an excuse, but that’s all there was to the Anderson shelter: you eat, you sleep, and you wait. It was simply a hideout from bombs, not much to it. </p><p>He briefly considers showing Philippe the card game his sisters always play in case he gets bored, when he feels a hand at his shoulder. Tommy’s body stiffens at the touch, the hand feeling red hot over the thin flannel he wore. Philippe turns him round, easily, pinning him down with a stare. His other hand comes up to mimic the first on Tommy’s shoulder and his face breaks into another smile, his eyes softening at the corners. Holding Tommy at arms length wouldn’t have been so overwhelming, yet with the tight confines of the shelter, the damp air seemed to only electrify the heat between them. Philippe searches Tommy’s face again with his eyes. Tommy suddenly feels very winded. </p><p>“<em>Merci.</em>” Philippe whispers, like a secret. Tommy is spellbound. Eyes blinking slowly, wondering if he’s still breathing and trying not to sway forward into the man’s broad chest. “Tommy?” The boy in question lets out a deep breath, his eyes tracing the line of Philippe’s mouth, silently begging him to say his name again.</p><p>“My pleasure.” Tommy exhales, betraying himself and swaying on the spot. Philippe steadies him, quick on his feet and maneuvers them both back to the makeshift bed. </p><p>“Okay?” Philippe’s question is one universally understood, no matter what language one speaks, but all Tommy can do is stay rooted to his spot beside him on the bed, wonderstruck by the Frenchman's proximity. He misses the way Philippe furrows his eyebrows at him, the Frenchman’s hands slipping slowly down Tommy’s arms, before lifting away completely. Tommy trembles at their phantom touch. 
<em>For God’s sake, must his desires be so visible?</em> </p><p>Philippe doesn’t hesitate to crowd his space, probably thinking the boy’s just cold in this earthen bunker. The way Philippe’s warm breath hits his face and the heat of his body mere inches from his, is like Tommy’s flame: absolutely irresistible. He allows his eyes to drift languidly over Philippe’s body, his own reacting to the intensity of his feelings, the smells of their natural scents, the camaraderie they’d built in the last four weeks. <em>How long,</em> Tommy thinks, <em>does it take to fall in love?</em> </p><p>“<em>Tommy?</em>” It’s barely a whisper, but it still registers in the Englishman’s ears. He can hear Philippe’s heavy breathing as his heat moves closer, or is Tommy the one panting, like he’s parched for thirst? </p><p>Tommy’s hands move of their own accord and his mouth no longer works to speak, but to find another pair of lips to latch onto. God, it scares him.</p><p><em>At least, it should.</em> </p><p>But he finds it doesn’t. </p><p>Philippe’s lips are soft as Tommy tentatively presses himself forward, closing their gap. Philippe returns the kiss with equal force, his stubble grazing over Tommy’s chin. </p><p>Tommy feels Philippe’s hand at his knee, his fingers dancing along the inseam of Tommy’s trousers. “<em>J’ai ça.</em> Is it okay for you?” </p><p>Tommy feels like he’s run up hill for three miles and then back again when he answers, “Yes.”</p><p>Philippe’s warm hand up his inner thigh has Tommy reaching round the back of the Frenchman’s head to bring them closer, to cling to him, and sigh prettily into his mouth. Philippe’s massaging touch does little to calm Tommy’s racing heart. He feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest. His brain just screams at him, <em>closer, closer, closer!</em> God help him; he is too weak to disobey. </p><p>Tommy’s eyes flutter open as they break apart, gasping for breath. It’s less than a second later that he wants to dive in again and submerge himself in the feeling. Philippe’s stubble rubs excitingly across Tommy’s cheek. His hands tingle, one pressed to Philippe’s chest, the other holding himself up into a sitting position. Philippe twists his body to better accommodate the other before abandoning all pretense and tugging Tommy into a position on top of him. Tommy frowns and flips them over. His heart throws caution to the wind as he spreads his legs to fit Philippe between them. Philippe can immediately feel how much Tommy wants him.</p><p>Their desires were invisible to no one.</p><p>“<em>Oh, mon p’tit, j’ai envie de toi...</em>” Somehow, Philippe’s words are not lost on Tommy and in his response can do nothing but whimper pitifully because they still aren’t kissing again. Before Tommy can make his move, Philippe takes a moment to gaze at him reverently. Tommy swears he can feel him throb against his thigh, making him cant his hips upwards, anything he wanted to say drowned in the feeling. Philippe responds swiftly. </p><p><em>True to his name, Private Thomas Mackenzie was never a gab about his love interests. They were few and far between, really. The only girls that paid him any mind were his mother and sisters, anyhow, and that accounted for absolutely nothing when talking to his regiment brothers about women back home. It did at one point make him feel that something was wrong with him. He often didn’t think too much about falling in love or getting married or having children. Honestly, he figured he’d probably meet his death before any of that could happen, having been thrust into a bloody war at only nineteen. He never fathomed that the war could bring him someone like Philippe.</em> </p><p>Back in the shelter and out of his head, Tommy is a whimpering mess. He scolds himself harshly for it. <em>You sound like a bloody girl, you git</em>, he says to himself. If Philippe wanted one of those, he could have any number of the women down the block. Yet, here he is with his tongue down Tommy’s throat and a hard on the size of his mother's freshly grown cucumbers. The bloody girth of them! <em>God’s sake, get out of your head, Tommy!</em></p><p>Philippe was saying something. Tommy opens his eyes, willing them to focus on the concerned looking face above him.</p><p>“<em>C’est bon, mon p'tit?</em>” Philippe asks as if he’d had to repeat himself a few times. He sinks his fingers into Tommy's dark hair to reassure him, watching Tommy bite his lip and nod his head. Tommy’s attempt at a French ‘yes’ leaves his voice squeaky and affected, his face going red at the sound. Philippe must find it amusing because he gives a little laugh and buries his face in Tommy’s neck, leaving fairy kisses on Tommy’s tender skin. Tommy throws his arms around the back of Philippe, caressing the broad expanse, searching, grasping, sliding, touching. He feels wetness sliding back and forth across his neck and down to his collarbone, Philippe’s pink tongue poking out for a taste. Tommy whines again when Philippe pauses to stare at him, watches him squirm and become restless. Philippe smirks and drives Tommy wild. He knows what he’s doing, dammit. He knows Tommy cannot resist his charms. </p><p>Philippe sits up a bit, the bed underneath them creaking under the weight. In one swift motion, the Frenchman abandons the borrowed shirt he wears, leaving his sweat slick skin glistening in the muted light. He sits up on his knees, crouched awkwardly over Tommy’s very apparent bulge. The sight makes Philippe’s mouth go slack as he runs his palm over Tommy’s trousers gently. It punches the wind out of the boy, his legs closing tightly round the other’s hips, as he imagines Philippe’s calloused hands stroking him without the barrier of clothes. He hears himself cry out as Philippe encourages him to rub against him, feeling too many things all at once. The smell of the dank shelter, their sweat, and arousal a potent mixture within the little bubble they made for themselves.</p><p>Tommy reaches out for Philippe again and he responds kindly, dipping back to capture Tommy’s mouth. Philippe’s hands make their way up Tommy’s shirt, across heated skin and pebbled nipples. They stay that way, relishing in the fluid rhythm that their bodies seemed to instinctually move in, a push and pull, a groan and a whimper. The more their pace picks up, the more their makeshift bed whines beneath them. Tommy can’t be outdone, though, his own whines trying desperately to compete. His hands slide over the slick skin of Philippe’s back and he hopes that when he grips Philippe’s arse the other boy doesn’t jolt away. Instead, he breaks their lip lock to pause surprisingly at this development. His arse clenches at the touch and he moans as Tommy fits his small hands over him, lifting up and squeezing. The movement encourages Philippe’s hips to seek purchase against Tommy’s thigh, their noises going high pitched as the bed whines in sync. </p><p>“<em>Oui, Tommy! Oh, j’ai envie de toi!</em>” Their bodies seem to melt together, Philippe’s rutting against Tommy’s thigh rough and frantic. Tommy responds in sounds of ecstasy, a fire building in his belly. He thought he would never again feel something like this so strongly after all that’d he’d seen and been through the past year. His bare need had him reaching down for the fly of Philippe’s trousers, keen for more contact. Philippe pauses, catches Tommy’s eye, and nods. The fire in his belly burning for more of this boy. Biting his lip at the sight, Tommy can just barely make out the tip of Philippe’s cock, glistening out of the band of his pants. The skin of his chest glistens in a sheen of sweat as Tommy rakes his hand all over him, pulling him down for another searing kiss. With his mouth over his, Philippe’s tongue kitten licks its way into Tommy’s. Is this what he’s been missing all this time? Philippe sucks at Tommy’s tongue, moving his hips in quick measured motions, forcing Tommy’s legs to open wider. </p><p>“Tommy, I’m-” His voice chokes off, as Philippe takes himself in his hand and jerks in three quick strokes. <em>Tommy can smell him.</em> </p><p><em>Yes, yes, yes,</em> Tommy screams inside himself, his words caught in his throat, his eyes fixed shut. <em>God, help the boy!</em> At this point, he’d give this man damn near anything, especially to hear the litany of swear words coming out his mouth in between strangled moans. The sound goes right to his core and Tommy’s eyes snap open as wetness pools inside his trousers, and he can just make out an orgasmic shout, when the cot shudders, then snaps, and sends them collapsing on top of the boxes and extra blankets underneath. </p><p>They're both laughing, sweaty and sore, and desperately trying to catch their breath. Philippe is holding his stomach and Tommy is gasping for air. They're both a mess of limbs, come, and something akin to love. </p><p>After they make themselves a little decent and Tommy fetches them fresh water, they tuck the broken cot into a corner and pull out an extra pallet to cuddle on. Exchanging soft kisses, Tommy makes silent promises he hopes that he can keep. They both do. </p><p>“You know, if Jean Cocteau could survive this and live to tell the tale, so can we.” He’d whispered into Philippe’s skin, fingers tracing along the sparse hairs of his chest. Philippe was in bliss, looking at him with heavy eyelids, his arm propped up, laying across from the man he loved. </p><p>He loved him. It was as simple and tragic as that. <em>Could he tell?</em> Philippe wondered. The Frenchman had never truly made love to anyone, but it felt like that with Tommy, as they lay close basking in their afterglow and whispering sweet words. His longing propelled him to wrap Tommy up in a strong embrace, hoping the words that he didn’t have the language for could be translated through his body. He hoped a kiss to the Englishman’s forehead would be enough for now.</p><p>Hidden in the darkness of wartime blackouts and Anderson shelters, the two men could relish in their newfound love and sense of safety.</p><p>At least, for tonight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, that was my first smut and fanfic. How'd I do? *nervous laughter* Anyway, I have more ideas and fics ready to be written in this fandom, with these characters, during this time. This was a standalone scene that I just wrote to get started, but I didn't want to leave it out so here it is. </p><p>Right, if you're interested - stay tuned and subscribe! :) Cheers!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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